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Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2019
Weekly Contest #90
My ragged bark streaked with tears, with ashes, and with paint.Long ago, the paint came first.It happened when the woman came to paint me. Not to paint on me, but to make a portrait of me. Or at least, I think that's what she was doing. The blonde sat opposite me, looking up every half a minute, earnestly scrutinising me, focusing on every detail. It made me feel a bit shy, but I quite liked it.She frequently came to the forest to paint. Sometimes it was the sunset, or the sunrise, or the night sky, or an animal, or the little creek with cry...
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